


In the Open

by SoManyJacks



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, fic based on art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: Just a little ficlet based onthis fantastic art.





	In the Open

It was maddening, really. Dorian was no blushing virgin. His entire adult life had been spent mastering the steps to a delicate dance, deciphering the coded phrases, the minutiae of eye contact and inflection, the briefest of movements of fingers and lips and eyebrows. He knew straight away when a man was attracted to him, and whether the man would be likely to act on it. 

Which is what made Commander Cullen especially infuriating. Dorian knew from their first meeting in Haven that the man wanted him. Well, Dorian  _ had  _ been trying to make an impression, throwing open the door to the pathetic little Chantry like he owned the place. Cullen's eyes had widened and his gaze had gone fixed, and Dorian felt the telltale flutter in his own stomach. Apparently there were some benefits to being a pariah, after all.

Except that it had been nearly a year, and the Commander had proved impossible to pin down. When Dorian had accepted the first overture for a game of chess, he thought that was it, surely. The ‘game’ would perhaps involve the pretext of a chess board but would quickly devolve to something more primal. But no, there was actually a game of chess -- clearly at the behest of either Josephine or Leliana -- why else meet in the garden, in the open, for all to see? Once Dorian understood a bit more about Cullen, the symbolism was clear, even cloying. If the former Knight-Captain, a man tortured by abominations, could sit down for a friendly game of chess with a Tevinter mage? Well, surely anything was possible. 

But the second game, and the third, and the dozens that came after? There was no gain to the Inquisition. If it were that and nothing more, just a game between colleagues, even then, Dorian could let it go, move on. But Cullen's every other word, gesture, sigh, gaze, screamed to Dorian  _ I want you.  _

So why wouldn’t the man play along? Dorian had given him dozens of openings, opportunities to meet in private, to see this through to its inevitable fruition. Cullen clearly understood the game they were playing, even if the rules in the south were different from his homeland. The little Dorian had learned of Templar life, it was clear that secreting away with a willing partner to relieve tension was par for the course. Yet every time he made an overture, Cullen deflected. 

_ Any plans for the evening? _

_ I’ll be in the archives in the basement most of the night. Quite secluded, you know. No one ever seems to go down there. And you? _

_ I was thinking a walk on the battlement. It won’t be warm much longer. Might be nice to enjoy it.  _

And so on, and so forth. Any mention by Dorian of privacy, of seclusion, was met by Cullen with some corresponding activity in public. 

Dorian had even gone so far as to ask advice from his other friends. Not because he was desperate -- oh heavens no -- but because it was simply ridiculous.  _ Talk to him,  _ they’d said. As if he hadn’t been  _ talking _ to Cullen for nearly a year. He’d been doing nothing  _ but  _ talk, and stare, and  _ want, _ until it had become nearly all-consuming. 

Halamshiral seemed the perfect opportunity to end the stalemate. Watching Cullen get fawned over by a throng of attractive women and men, while Dorian himself was ignored, had been frankly painful on many levels. And still, Cullen refused to slip away to a shady corner of the garden, instead asking Dorian to dance on a balcony off the ballroom. As if Dorian would accept that -- a dance, with Cullen? In front of everyone? Was he mad?

It was the last straw, honestly. Cullen was toying with him, obviously. Dorian hadn’t pegged him as a man that would enjoy such manipulation, but still, these Fereldens could be surprising. Dorian felt a fool, taking most of a year to realize what was going on. Losing his touch. 

Well, in the words of a certain brutish Qunari of his acquaintance,  _ fuck that.  _ Dorian had managed to avoid Cullen on the return trip from Orlais, and had thrown himself into his research once reaching Skyhold. 

Which made the presence of a certain handsome ex-Templar looming in Dorian's library nook all the more troublesome. Dorian pretended to ignore him, despite the way his own stomach seemed to be trying to fold in on itself, until Cullen cleared his throat.

“Yes, what can I do for you, Commander?” Dorian sighed. 

He’d expected to see the playful smile that Cullen usually wore for their chess games. Instead Cullen looked hurt, almost heartbroken. “I... came to see if you fancied a game. You’re obviously busy.” Cullen dipped his head and gave him an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. 

Dorian felt himself answer without thinking, his frustration and pique putting words in his mouth. “Yes, I’ve quite a bit to catch up on.” He gestured at the pile of scrolls on the table. 

“I... understand,” Cullen mumbled, nodding at Dorian's feet. “Perhaps another time.” He turned and hurried away.

It was spectacularly unsatisfying. Regret washed over Dorian and he heaved himself to his feet. “Cullen, wait.” 

The Commander was already on the stairs. Dorian wasn’t able to catch up to him until they were in the Great Hall, grabbing his forearm. He immediately dropped his hand, glancing at the people milling throughout the room. “That was rude of me. I apologize.” He might be annoyed at the man, but he wasn’t above common courtesy.

“It’s... it’s fine,” Cullen muttered. “I’ve taken too much of your time. I thought... well, it doesn’t matter. I won’t trouble you further.” He glanced up at Dorian's eyes guiltily and then away.

It was the guilt that did it. Dorian's temper snapped, though he kept his voice quiet. “Trouble? Is that what you call toying with me for months? You’re right, I would prefer if that were to cease.” 

“Toying with you?” Cullen tilted his head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh please,” Dorian hissed, glancing again at the the people nearby. “You know  _ exactly _ what I mean.”

“Dorian, I would never....” Cullen crinkled his nose and shook his head. “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Dorian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not a child, Cullen. If you’re not interested....” He sighed in frustration. “No need to keep  _ deflecting.” _

“Deflecting? Is that what --” His voice had started to rise, and Dorian shot him a look before glancing once again at the others. People were starting to take notice. Cullen rubbed his forehead and lowered his voice. “Dorian, I’ve been trying to... Maker. I’ve been trying to  _ court _ you.”

“What?” Dorian shrieked, forgetting himself. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cullen laughed. He  _ laughed, _ that damnable man, and the sound wrapped around Dorian like a blanket. “Why else would I ask you to dine, to walk the battlements, to go to the tavern, to dance?”

“But....” Dorian's mind, brilliant as it was, had its limits. It had gone totally, utterly blank. There was a tugging at his hand. Dumbly, he looked down to see the cause. It was Cullen, pulling at his fingers. Dorian could do little but watch as Cullen lifted it, holding Dorian's hand at chest level. 

“Dorian, would you like to play a game of chess?” Cullen's lips twisted in a wry smile that was far, far too confident. It seemed to be having an effect on Dorian's knees. 

“I....” Before he could answer, Cullen raised his hand further. And further, continuing to stare into Dorian's eyes, until finally pressing his lips against Dorian's knuckle. It was no chaste gesture either -- it lingered, the heat from his breath seeming to burn Dorian's skin, the faintest hint of teeth and tongue further weakening Dorian's knees. 

“Oh,” Dorian gasped. 

People were staring; they must’ve been, because the hall had fallen nearly silent. Only for a moment though. Because then a raucous cheer rose near the entrance, and the voice of a meddlesome dwarf yelled out, “GO SPARKLER! GET IT CURLY! YEAH!” 

Cullen's kiss splintered into a snicker. He let Dorian's hand fall. “Shall we?” He gave a courtly half-bow and held his hand out.

Dorian's words still hadn’t returned. So he tilted his head in acknowledgement. Cullen's smile widened as he turned towards the garden door. But he didn’t walk, instead pausing with his elbow cocked askew. He cleared his throat.

“Oh for -- really?” Dorian huffed, rolling his eyes. Shock was one thing, but cliches couldn’t be borne in silence. 

Cullen merely shrugged, that incorrigible smile still planted on his face. Dorian rolled his eyes once more, but threaded his hand through Cullen's arm nonetheless. He even managed a haughty sniff at Varric as they took their leave. 


End file.
